


along came a spider

by kelbivdevoe



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers (sorta), Peter B. Parker was truly the best gift of 2018, Reader-Insert, Secret Identity, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 05:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17277746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelbivdevoe/pseuds/kelbivdevoe
Summary: You weren't going to be able to keep your crush on Spider-Man a secret from Peter forever.





	along came a spider

**Author's Note:**

> lots of love and thanks to [momothesweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momothesweet/) for helping me through this and letting me bounce my ideas for spider porn off her at all hours of the day.

You tip back your glass, letting the last few drops of your rum and Coke wash over your tongue before turning back to the jukebox.

 

AC/DC? Nah.

 

Journey? Too maudlin.

 

Garth Brooks? Friends in Low Places would be perfect for this very moment, since your friend in the lowest place possible is exactly 2 hours late for the nightcap _he_ suggested in the first place. It’s not strange for Peter to be so flaky--at least over the past year. Honestly, it’s been impressive to see him not wearing sweatpants at this point. But the fact he took it upon himself to actually offer to do something that didn’t involve watching Animal Planet in his apartment is a big deal. So you don’t want to give up just yet.

 

You’re about to throw caution to the wind and put on Mambo No.5, but a hand shoots over your shoulder with surprising speed, hitting G4 and filling the bar with the familiar sound of Pearl Jam.

 

“You snooze you lose. Were you looking for the EDM section, or whatever robot farts they’re calling music these days?”

 

You grin a little, looking over your shoulder at the very tardy man of the hour.

 

“Some of those robot farts are actually pretty catchy. And you’re late, Peter Beth Parker.”

 

“We’ve known each other for years and you still haven’t figured out the B. Pretty sad.” He shakes his head, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“Bianca?”

 

“No.”

 

“Beyoncé.”

 

He fixes you with a look that conveys ‘shut the fuck up’ better than words ever could before grabbing the empty glass out of your hand and motioning for you to follow.

 

“Come on, I’ve gotta catch up to your…” He pauses, rubbing his chin and assessing you carefully. “Two drink head start.”

 

“Pretty impressive talent.” You follow him to the bar as he waves for two more drinks before taking a seat on one of the barstools and shrugging off his jacket.

 

“Yeah, if only I could get paid for it.” He responds dryly, downing his drink in almost one go as soon as the bartender sets it down. You roll your eyes as he makes no move for his wallet, so you fish a $10 bill out of your purse and push it across the bar.

 

“I could talk to someone at the Bugle about a job for you, you know. JJ would have you back in a second--”

 

Peter makes a noise that sounds somewhere between a groan and a retch, pushing his hands through his greying hair.

 

“It’s money, Peter. Plus, you get to see me everyday again. The ultimate incentive.” You waggle your eyebrows as you take a drink and now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. He’s smiling a little this time, and your chest swells slightly.

 

“I’ll _think_ about it,” He says finally, reaching for your drink and pouting a little when you pull it out of reach. “But only for you, got it?”

 

The television overhead suddenly gets louder and everyone’s eyes move collectively to the screen as BREAKING NEWS flashes onscreen.

 

“Tonight a potential terrorist situation in Brooklyn was avoided thanks to Spider-Man. Police on the scene say…”

 

A cheer goes up in the bar as you tune out the anchorman while a witness recorded video plays, smiling to yourself as you watch the blur of red and blue swing around the screen, incapacitating a group of men with his webs before landing lightly on his feet, the picture of grace. It’s just as exciting to watch as it was the first time you saw him in action as a kid.

 

“Amazing,” You murmur to yourself, chest warm from alcohol and Spider-feels.

 

Peter takes this opportunity to sneak the rest of your drink from you, peering at you from out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Any reason you’re looking at Spider-Man like you’re a teenager at a Backstreet Boys concert?” He asks slyly, setting down the glass in his hand before looking at you expectantly.

 

“You really need to update your references, old man.” Your cheeks are slightly flushed and you pray he thinks it’s from the alcohol.

 

“And _you_ need to stop changing the subject. Holding out on telling me about your crush on ol’ Spidey, huh?”

 

“Please stop talking,” You groan, pressing your face into your hands as he laughs, enjoying this way too much.

 

“He’s a friend, I could put in a good word for you--”

 

The thought makes you want to die and be reanimated just so you can die again.

 

“He’s single, you’re single--”

 

“Two more of these, please!” You call to the bartender, waving your glass and trying to drown out the sound of Peter’s voice. “And make them doubles!”

 

\---

 

The number of stairs it takes to get to your apartment seems to have doubled from the time you’d left from the bar earlier tonight. It takes a lot of concentration and taking off your heels, but you finally make it, fumbling with your keys as what feels like an entire bottle of rum courses it’s way through your veins.

 

Finally, you’re inside, shedding a trail of clothes behind you to your room before grabbing your largest, comfiest t-shirt, saying good riddance to your bra and pulling the garment over your head. There’s a deep, internal debate happening in your head over taking the time to wash your face before passing out, but it’s interrupted by a light tapping against your bedroom window. Probably a pigeon or something.

 

The tapping continues and you grab a book from your bedside table to shoo it away with before screaming.

 

_Fucking Spider-Man is standing outside your window._

 

He waves, probably used to scaring the shit out of people on a daily basis, and the warm buzz in your head is immediately replaced by the constant state of wariness it takes to be a woman in 2018.

 

“How do I know you’re the real Spider-Man?” You call, clutching the book to your chest.

 

He holds up an index finger before shooting a web upward and disappearing out of sight. You swallow a little, moving closer to the window and watching as he crawls back into view, firmly attached to the window by just the tips of his fingers and toes.

 

You slide open the window slowly, watching him climb inside with bewilderment. This doesn’t seem real.

 

“Hope you don’t mind me dropping by,” He begins, one hand on his hip. “It’s late and I noticed you coming back here by yourself. I wanted to make sure you got inside safely.”

 

“Thank you,” You blurt, cheeks flushing slightly. “You really didn’t have to do that, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than worry about me. God, this is so weird, Peter and I were just talking about you tonight…”

 

“Peter?” He asks, blinking his large white eyes. “Peter Parker?”

 

“The one and only,” You reply, relieved he didn’t get a chance to spill your fangirl feelings before you met. “We used to work at The Daily Bugle together.”

 

Spider-man raises his hand to his chin, looking at you curiously.

 

“What’s your name?” He asks, and you tell him. He makes a noise of confirmation to himself, nodding. “Peter mentioned you before. He left out how beautiful you are, though.”

 

_Is fucking Spider-man flirting with you right now?_

 

That knocks you for a loop. He moves closer and all you can do is swallow.

 

“Sorry,” You breathe, suddenly aware of what you’re wearing and tugging self consciously at the hem of the t-shirt. “This is kind of surreal. I’m not even sure this is happening.”

 

He reaches out and takes your hand, pressing it flat against his chest. You can feel the heat radiating through his suit, and the hard muscle that lies beneath it.

 

“Real enough for you?” He asks, and you can almost see the smile through his mask.

 

“I can think of a few other ways to prove it,” Your mouth replies without thinking, and you swear you feel his heartbeat stutter under your palm. Meanwhile, yours is going about a million miles an hour.

 

“Well, I’d hate to let a fan down.” He smirks a little, reaching up and pulling up his mask just enough to expose his mouth. Your brain shuts down for the next 30 seconds because holy shit Spider-Man is kissing you.

 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, probably too tightly. If this turns out to be a dream, you’re not letting go. He slides his tongue lightly along the seam of your lips and you part them easily. You swear you can taste rum on his tongue, but the thought is lost as he slides it against yours with a low, hungry noise.

 

He snakes his arms around your waist, like he’s hungry for human contact as his hands move from your hips to your stomach to your ass, squeezing hard and making you press yourself against him even closer.

 

“A real fan, I see,” he breathes against your mouth, corner of his mouth pulling into a grin.

 

You laugh a little breathlessly, cheeks flushed.

 

“No one's going to believe this actually happened,” You murmur, mostly to yourself. He gives your ass another squeeze before kissing a trail down your neck, brushing his tongue over your pulse point and making you shiver.

 

“Guess that means I’ll have to leave some proof.”

 

Your knees get a little weak as he begins sucking on your neck, determined to leave a mark. You curl your fingers into the back of his mask with a soft groan, eyes closing slowly as he alternates between sucking and laving his tongue over the patch of skin.

 

He pulls his head back a little, admiring his handiwork and letting out a soft chuckle.

 

“We’re gonna need to leave few more, just to be sure.”

 

It takes little effort to back you up against the wall, and even less to pull your shirt over your head and toss it unceremoniously over his shoulder. His mouth moves methodically down your chest, pausing long enough to suck a mark into the soft skin before moving on and repeating the process. The stubble on his chin and cheeks scrapes against your skin, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake.

 

You’re panting as closes his hands around your tits, squeezing and kneading slowly as he ducks his head, ghosting his mouth over a nipple and making you whine in need. He slots his thigh between your legs to help hold you up while his hands are busy, and instinctively you grind yourself against him, face flushing in embarrassment as you feel yourself soaking through the material of his costume.

 

“God,” He breathes, tongue teasing your nipple to hardness before sucking it sharply into his mouth. You whimper loudly, arching into the warmth of his mouth, rocking your hips in a steady rhythm against his thigh. He sucks until it’s almost aching before switching to the other, worrying it between his teeth and making you gasp.

 

When he dips his hand into your panties, you’re practically babbling in need, tightening your grip on him as his slim fingers swirl around your swollen clit.

 

“Nn…want you inside me so bad, please…please…”

 

He hurriedly pushes his pants down enough to let his cock spring free, hard and impressive and aching for _you._  It’s still hard to wrap your mind around this actually happening, but a lot easier to believe as he lifts you into his arms, positioning you against the tip of his cock before sliding inside of you in one fluid motion with a loud groan.

 

“Jesus, you feel so fucking good…” He pants against your neck as his hips begin moving at an almost feverish pace, full of an aggressive, pent up energy that would take you aback had you been capable of lucid thought.

 

You grip the back of his costume with a ragged groan as he hits a spot deep inside of you with every thrust, making your toes curl and your eyes squeeze shut. There’s a steady thudding against the wall with every thrust of his hips as he fucks you, neither of you even attempting to be quiet. Your neighbors probably hate you right now.

 

He holds you up easily with one arm, the other hand snaking between your thighs and rubbing your clit firmly with the pads of his fingers. Your legs begin to tremble and he senses it, fingers moving quicker, firmer, you’re falling apart under his touch and coming all over his cock with a moan that surprises even yourself.

 

He follows suit not long after, burying himself inside of you one last time with a groan from deep in his chest. He pants thickly into your neck, pulling away after a few moments, and you both look down, watching his cock slide out of your pussy, slick with your come and his. You both swallow loudly, almost in tandem, before he presses his lips a little dizzily against yours, almost drunk from the afterglow.

 

“Wow,” He murmurs against your mouth, lowering you gently to your feet. His hands linger on your hips, rubbing absent circles with his fingers.

 

“Wow,” You smile in agreement, fingers stroking his chest gently. Trying not to get flustered again. “I’m...um, not sure what to do after sex with a superhero, to be honest. Do you want something to eat, or…”

 

He grins a little at that.

 

“Pizza?”

 

You open your mouth to respond when the sound of a police siren cuts through the night air, and his head whips immediately towards the window. You both hold your breath, but the number of sirens multiplies, and you know what has to happen.

 

“Rain check?” You ask, hiding your disappointment with a hopeful smile.

 

“I’m holding you to it. If I see you out with another guy in a mask, I’m gonna be very jealous. Inconsolable!” He tugs his mask over the lower half of his face as you laugh, squeezing your hand before climbing out the window and disappearing with a thwip and a wave.

 

—-

 

“Jesus, Peter!” You almost choke on your coffee, taking in his disheveled, exhausted appearance as he slides into the booth across from you. Well, more disheveled and exhausted than usual. “Did you get _any_ sleep last night?”

 

“The standard 8 to 10 minutes every adult needs to be a productive member of society,” He slurs tiredly, pulling your coffee out of your hands and taking a deep swig.

 

“Where did you go after we left the bar?”

 

“I had a thing to take care of,” He answers, vague as usual, before zeroing in on the hickey on your neck, lips turning up in a smug smirk. “Nice hickey you got there. Spider-Man finally got in your pants?”

 

You slap your hand over it, turning red. Apparently that concealer wasn’t as full coverage as you hoped.

 

“Actually…” Screw it. You fucked your childhood hero and you’re going to own it. If you can’t brag to Peter, who can you? “Yeah, he did. And it was incredible.”

 

Peter looks less surprised than you would have expected, smiling entirely too widely.

 

“I’ll have to let him know.”

 

“Let him know how much I want to blow him the next time he decides to swing by too.”

 

You grin in satisfaction as he chokes on his coffee, face turning red as he tries to slap the air back into his lungs.  



End file.
